


I Hold the Wolf by the Ear

by eastern_wind



Series: Shadows of the Past [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, POV Tau, the darkest hour prompts month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 15:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15537246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastern_wind/pseuds/eastern_wind
Summary: Prompt - auribus teneo lupum (latin) - i hold the wolf by the ear, meaning to be in a situation in which remaining is as dangerous as leaving >:) - @fat-rolls-frictions





	I Hold the Wolf by the Ear

I rarely speak because my arrows make much more sense than words.

 

Out of the grimness of the burial site, I watch him closely. He is nothing like us: tall if bent by his weakness, unmarked where we wear ours proudly, desolate in the midst of our barely contained joy. We met the legend, alive and real, he looks through us, unseeing.

He names himself Pride, but I feel the darkness follow him with each weary step he takes. He smells of death and mourning and pain as he reaches out to trail his fingers over the curve of my bow. “Yew,” he whispers and his blue eyes flash with something familiar and in a sudden silence that stretches between us I realize, it’s grief. He sounds… not mad, but not entirely present either. 

“Let us return to the camp, Hahren,” Revas offers politely, his gaze burning holes in man’s spine, but Solas keeps silent. He stares at me, but whatever ghost he sees must be important to him. Still, we need to go back to aravels and maybe knocking him out and carrying his body is rational, but something stops me from doing so. I sigh and take him by the wrist.

“Come with me,” I say and he follows obediently with eyes suddenly full of hope and wonder. Whoever he sees in me must have been dead for centuries.

I don’t know if I made the right choice. 

 

He looks better these days. More present, lively and well fed, but shadows of the past must be his constant companions, judging by the haunted expression he always wears around me. He frowns when I ask Revas to etch the extension of my vallaslin on my back on Lyndel’s birthday. His eyes are pained, but I don’t ask and he doesn’t tell. Better doesn’t mean good.

 

The Clan is divided. Keeper and both Elders are firm in our belief that Solas is Fen’Harel and most of the clan follows suit either willing to trust our lore, or out of respect. Some, however, are sceptical and Samahl’s voice is the loudest as usual.

“He doesn’t even look like us!” he hisses at Revas and I’m almost able to restrain from baring my teeth. Almost. He backs off a little, but another glimpse at our sleeping guest is enough to fuel Samahl’s fury and goes on. “Outsider! He must be a halfling! Son of a shem! Look at him, he’s too tall to be one of us! And his face too.” The man scoffs indignantly in my direction, “Wouldn’t he be another one of Irasen’s conquests? Or, maybe you’ve followed your mother’s steps too, Tau?” And that is enough.

Two arrows pin Samahl’s sleeves to the tree he was leaning on, another one is already aimed at his throat. “Watch. Your. Tongue.” I spit in the direction of his quivering body and leave the circle of fire. I’m not the one to make decisions anyway. The Clan is divided.

 

“Samahl is from another clan,” Solas says as I pass him and I grunt is agreement, though my pace doesn’t slow. “Which one? He seems unsettled.”

“Mahariel,” I mutter in return and disappear into the woods. I have more important duties than explaining the ways of Sulahn’nan, even if it’s the old god who asks. Revas is the First, he will take care of it.

When my body is thoroughly hidden by the thick vegetation of the forest, I stop in my tracks and squirrel up an old tree, settling in its branches to watch the man. The truth is, Samahl is right. Solas doesn’t look anything like us except for ears. 

His skin is dark olive, a rare color among our kind and more suitable for a Rivaini or Tevinter humans, his eyes don’t reflect the light the way our do too. But appearances can be deceiving and the way he speaks with Revas or grandfather betrays his deep knowledge of our language and lost culture. Of what once been. Samahl is right in the essence, but he missed all the details. It’s we, who are outsiders. 

Solas turns his head and stares me right in the eyes through the gap in tree branches. I let the arrow fly free and the wolf creeping towards clan’s hallas darts into darkness of the forest.

I don’t know if I made the right choice. I let him look at me and see whoever he is seeing.

**Author's Note:**

> I crave feedback, you know I do.  
> Also, drop by the series if you want to know more about The Darkest Hour 'verse!


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